


Despondency

by RebrandedBard



Series: An All-Consuming Creature [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Abduction, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Crying During Sex, Deceit, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia / Jaskier | Dandelion, Inspired by Eros and Psyche (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Kidnapping, M/M, Mild Praise Kink, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn With Plot, Sex Pollen, Whump, because there's some classic ambiguity in the way Jaskier talks, no beta we die like men and get our shit wrecked in the comments, of a kind - Freeform, putting this in the additional tags because it's endgame but not the highlight of the aside, the personification of love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:48:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26892445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebrandedBard/pseuds/RebrandedBard
Summary: “Do you love me?” Jaskier asked. His voice was softer now. There was an ache in it that begged for some comfort. It seemed he would take it from whatever source. As he squeezed Love’s hands, it became clear what source he meant to take it from.Love hesitated. Was it not plain as night and day? He loved him as war loved chaos, as conquest loved submission, as winter loved—“I do,” he said, banishing the thought.“How?”-Jaskier gives up hope of escape or rescue after the news of Geralt's death and takes comfort from Love.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Male Character(s), Jaskier| Dandelion/Original Monster Character
Series: An All-Consuming Creature [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1962019
Comments: 15
Kudos: 61





	Despondency

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Black_Salt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Salt/gifts).



> This is an aside written for An All-Consuming Creature as part of a trade between myself and Black_Salt. This was actually written awhile back, before I had much experience writing smut, so to pun: please take it with a ... grain of salt!

Silence ruled in the domain for many days, more powerful than the word of any god, however tenderly spoken. Jaskier’s mourning withered the flowers of his cage. Even the Dimeritium bars appeared to rust in its wake. Love left the door open and removed half the bars to allow Jaskier to leave, but he stayed huddled in the dark room, refusing to emerge until the fourth day when Ciri at last persuaded him out. He was an empty shell without even his music left in his heart. The shell that Love had brought him filled with Geralt’s song had been pressed to his ear, singing softly to him until, in an instant of true despair, Jaskier had thrown it to the floor and shattered it irreparably into pieces. Geralt was truly gone.

Love did not visit him in that black time. He stayed where he might be easily found should Ciri have need of him, doubting Jaskier would approach or even look his way, but he remained hopeful that he might one day be needed. Every evening, he could be found at the dining table or reading in the adjacent lounge. Ciri found him in the lesser frequented gardens on some days, in the hot spring, or simply wandering the grounds. He was never the one to approach her, but she came to him. There was no one else to go to.

“He’s given up,” she said.

Today, they were having an early diner, eating informally under a terrace. The flowers that bloomed from it were planted by Love’s hand. All belonging to Jaskier had long since withered.

“Yes,” Love replied. His tone was not one of joy, nor victory. It carried a hint of pity in its wake. The object of that pity sat in the sand across the dying lawn, gazing out to sea. Love watched him, something he often did from afar. No tricks would comfort Jaskier, nor make him seek Love’s company now. He’d once known such a sorrow. The only cure was time.

That was why Love was so surprised to find Jaskier in his bedroom that night.

Jaskier had never visited his wing. Never. He kept as out of reach as possible. And yet, there he was, laying in Love’s bed, a pillow clutched to his chest. He’d been crying, his eyes rimmed red. Now he was staring at the wall, just breathing.

Love did not know what to do. It was his own room, yet he felt as though his presence were an imposition. With no alternative, he stood in the doorway, immobile until he could justify Jaskier’s purpose in the room, moving neither in nor out.

But Jaskier heard him approach. He turned his head. “Love,” he called, his voice rough and tired. It meant nothing. It was a thoughtless acknowledgement.

“I’m here.” Though he felt he ought to be elsewhere. That would be the kinder thing, leaving Jaskier to mourn. He could offer no true comfort. All he could do was wait for Jaskier’s heart to be whole; only then would he be able to consider giving it away.

But Jaskier surprised him once more by lifting his hand towards him, beckoning. “Come to me,” he said. There was a pleading quality to his voice when he spoke. He sat up, letting the pillow fall from the bed, and reached with both arms. And that was when Love noticed the third improbability of the hour.

Jaskier’s feet were _bare._

Love stepped timidly forward, his heart giving a thunderous leap. What did it all mean? He reached Jaskier’s side and placed his hands in his outward palms, expecting Jaskier to use his help to rise to his feet. But Jaskier did not rise. He remained seated, legs folded at his side as he gazed up at Love.

“Do you love me?” he asked. His voice was softer now. There was an ache in it that begged for some comfort. It seemed he would take it from whatever source. As he squeezed Love’s hands, it became clear what source he meant to take it from.

Love hesitated. Was it not plain as night and day? He loved him as war loved chaos, as conquest loved submission, as winter loved—

“I do,” he said, banishing the thought.

“How?”

Love looked at him, brow furrowed on his stolen features. “You consume my every thought. Every hour, all I can think of is you. My thoughts are prayers of worship for your altar. I love you like religion. Like … ” there were not enough words to describe it. Love had no limits.

Jaskier pulled Love’s hands around his waist, his eyes never breaking away. When he let go, his hands trailed up Love’s arms, ghosted the slope of his shoulders, and came to rest on his neck, thumbs stroking the rigid line of his jaw. He looked at Love’s lips, one of many once brief glances, now open, vulnerable, and long-lingering.

“Show me,” Jaskier said. And before Love could conceptualize such a possibility, Jaskier closed his eyes and pressed soft lips against his.

Love made a startled noise and moved the pull away, but Jaskier hooked his hands around his neck and tugged him back. He leaned against the pillows, trapping Love’s hands beneath him. “Please,” he whimpered. He sounded as if he were moments away from letting loose a sob and crying, his voice was so strained. He opened his eyes and they were glistening with barely contained tears. He ran his hands over Love’s cheek, beseeching. “Please,” he begged once more. “Kiss me. Hold me. Don’t leave me here alone.”

He sounded so frail. Love tightened his grip. His heart was pounding out of his chest, the taste of Jaskier’s sweet kiss on his tongue, so freely given, sent a thrill through him. He crawled onto the bed and loomed over his body, breath picking up as the blood rushed through his veins.

“Is this what you want?” he asked.

Jaskier closed his eyes and nodded.

Love freed one hand to grab his chin and leaned in closer. “Look at me,” he said, voice firm to ground Jaskier. He had to hear; Love had to know. “Look me in the eye and tell me that you want this. I’ve been waiting for it a long time—longer than you can imagine—and I want to hear you say it. Now tell me: what do you want, Jaskier?”

Jaskier opened his eyes, a tear falling from the corner. He cradled the back of Love’s head in his hands, fingers brushing through the long white hair. He shook his head pathetically. “I want you,” he said. “I want you here with me. I want your touch, your comfort—I want your love. In whatever way I can take it.”

Love’s blood ran hot. Jaskier saw the change in his eyes, growing steadily dark, and pulled him back into another, fiercer kiss. Love clutched him to his chest and made a low, appreciative hum. He licked at Jaskier’s bottom lip, ran his hand up his side. Jaskier had been wearing those same, wretched clothes for far too long.

As Love’s tongue slipped into Jaskier’s willing mouth, his hand slipped under Jaskier’s doublet and chemise. At last he was free to touch. Jaskier made a soft noise as Love stroked the firm muscle beneath, cool hands against burning skin. Jaskier reciprocated in kind, hands coming free of his hair to tug the black shirt free of Love’s leather trousers.

Love might’ve banished them all with a single thought, but then he wouldn’t be able to revel in Jaskier’s desperation as he tried to undress him. So Love gave his lip a teasing bite before pulling away, giving Jaskier room to sit upright and help him strip.

Jaskier flung the shirt away and tried to bring Love closer again, kissing like a mad thing at his neck, his chest, anything in reach, but Love pushed him back. “In a moment,” he promised. First, he had to get Jaskier undressed. It was only fair.

He pulled the doublet open, not bothering with the clasps, letting the fabric rip. Jaskier gasped, his chest jumping in surprise. His eyes darkened as Love yanked it free, and his chemise directly afterwards. Jaskier fell back against the bed and craned his neck. Love growled, shoving Jaskier back to plunder his reward. Jaskier shivered as Love pinned him down, squiring impatiently as Love kissed slowly from his neck to his chest.

“Your heart is racing,” Love purred. It belonged to _him_ , beat for him.

Jaskier’s face was flushed with want and the color reached quite low. “Don’t make me wait,” he said. He raised his hips meaningfully, still so inconveniently clothed.

Love pushed his hips back down, hand brushing against a firm bulge barely concealed beneath. He listened as Jaskier moaned: a sound of impatience and pleasure at the small touch. Love grinned. At long last, he was getting what he wanted, and Jaskier wore lust so beautifully. He undid the ties and pulled his trousers and smalls down by the hem of the waist. Jaskier obliged, arcing himself off the bed so that it was a simple task to pull them completely free. Love nibbled at his hip bone in thanks, then stood from the bed. He let himself savour the moment, his hands stroking the length of Jaskier’s legs as he pulled lower and lower. Jaskier’s cock stood upright, leaking impatiently a bead of precum. He was on edge, and who knew for how long. The was a special delight when his hands found the meat of Jaskier’s calves, no leather to prevent his touch now.

“You were ready for this,” he said. “You already had your boots off for me.”

Jaskier had been careful not to remove them once in his presence and it had been infuriating. Love had known about the dagger. He had felt the blessing upon it, had sniffed out the trace of magic since the moment of Jaskier’s arrival. The cool silver had a trace of Winter in it, and it was _his_ blessing which had granted it power. It was a gift from him to protect Jaskier, given with the blessing that he might always return, however long apart they were. It was the one thing that kept Love from fixing Jaskier in his realm. And now, it was gone.

Jaskier closed his eyes. There was no point anymore. “It hurts to wear them.”

Love tutted. The trousers free, he massaged Jaskier’s poor muscles. His ankles and feet were blistered from sleeping so long in his boots. From now on, they’d be allowed to heal. Love would ensure that not a trace or scar was left.

Jaskier sat up again and groped at Love’s trousers. “You’re too slow,” he scolded, hands working the ties. He jerked the top down, freeing Love’s cock, and he stared, eyes wide. His mouth hung open a moment as he took in the sight of it, red and hard, standing tall at attention.

“Is that really what it looks like?” he mumbled.

Love wasn’t sure if Jaskier were really asking. He answered anyway. “I don’t remember what it looked like before you arrived. I told you; I change to suit your tastes. This is the form you wanted; that is the form it takes.”

“I suppose I like them large and pretty. No surprise there.” It came like a joke, but there was no humour in Jaskier’s voice. He tilted his head back to look up at Love. “Hurry up,” he demanded.

Love stepped out of his trousers and climbed back on the bed. “So greedy for me now that you’ve made up your mind. What if I want to take my time?” he asked. He ground slowly against Jaskier’s thigh to hear him gasp. He loved the way Jaskier fidgeted beneath him, so ready for more.

“I don’t care what you do or how you do it. I just want whatever you’ll give me.”

“Then by all means, I’ll give you everything. We have all the time in the world.” After all, what was time to the immortal gods? He wondered how much stamina Jaskier had in him. Now that it had come to this, he wanted a week at least. They would go until Jaskier was begging for a moment’s rest, and then it would be Love’s turn to indulge. He would show him every privilege that came with being his consort. And there were ever so many.

Love’s fingers became slick of their own accord and the scent of silphium oil permeated the air. He trailed one finger up the bottom of Jaskier’s cock, a teasing light touch. Jaskier bucked upwards, head rutting against Love’s stomach, smearing a sticky white trail. Love shushed him, guiding him back to the sheets with a gentle hand. “Be good for me, Jaskier. I promise I’ll make all your waiting worthwhile.” He leaned forward to give him another kiss, pulling away with a sigh. “You’re so beautiful,” he said.

When the smell of the oil reached Jaskier, his breath hitched. It was sickly sweet just as he remembered, and he expected to hate it, but now … there was a _change._ As he breathed the scent in, his heart began to race. His skin burned and his cock ached even more. Love trailed a hand up his inner thigh and Jaskier choked on a strangled cry as the simple touch sent fire up his spine.

“W—what did you do?” he asked, beginning to pant. He felt like he couldn’t catch his breath, but nothing had happened yet. His skin prickled with a strange sensation. He tingled all over. Heat licked at him like fire from his lungs.

“Silphium oil is a powerful aphrodisiac. I meant for it to weaken you towards me as well as to suppress your power, but yours was a powerful blessing. It protected you from it.”

Jaskier’s head fell back against the pillows as Love put a hand to his chest. The contact was cool against the burning on his skin. A momentary balm against the heat. It wasn’t enough. His mind clouded and he shook his head, unable to find the words. “Please, touch me,” he begged. “It’s too hot. I need—!"

“Calm down, Jaskier. What do you need?”

“More,” Jaskier whined.

Love wrapped his slick hand around Jaskier’s cock and Jaskier nearly cried. His hands flew to the pillows. He pulled one over his face and whined into the muffling softness. His hips jutted up of their own accord, trying to gain more friction. He was obscenely eager.

Love snatched the pillow away. “No. I want to hear you. I want you to watch,” he said.

Jaskier hauled himself up on his elbows, nodding wordlessly. He watched.

Love stroked him once, long and slow, twisting his hand as he went. Strangled noises came from the back of Jaskier’s throat. Love’s heady gaze had him twitching, exposed. But there was no escaping his eyes.

Under Love’s skilled hand, Jaskier’s breath became ragged. He couldn’t focus on anything but the delicious friction. Love was truly being kind, taking no time to tease. But kindness quickly turned to cruelty as he pulled his hand away.

Jaskier gave a cry of protest, but Love only smirked. Then, he ducked his head down and placed his lips around Jaskier’s pulsing cock, swallowing him down with a deep hum. Jaskier lay back and his hands flung to Love’s hair. He moaned, gripping hard to hold him in place. He thrust into Love’s mouth twice before Love pulled away.

“You taste divine,” he said, licking his lips.

“Come back,” Jaskier pleaded, far gone. The heat which had dissipated moments before returned with force. His erection was painfully hard and it felt like he was on fire. He needed Love’s mouth around him or he felt he would burn away like parchment over a candle. Love’s hand returned, gripping the base, and he gave another stroke. A thick drop of cum emerged from the tip and rolled down the back of his knuckles.

“Use me,” Love said, voice rough. In a moment, Jaskier’s cock was between his teeth again, and Love’s tongue swirled around the tip, lapping up the spill.

Jaskier did not need to be asked twice. He pulled Love’s hair, thrusting up into his mouth with rapture. The noises he made would later haunt him, echoing in the quietest of chambers, but he didn’t care.

Love grunted as Jaskier’s tip hit the back of his throat, but he allowed himself to be used. He could hardly find room to breathe as Jaskier’s movements became erratic. He gripped Jaskier’s hips and took the length of him down. He waited until he felt Jaskier tense. Jaskier gave no warning, but Love had no intention of letting up. He sucked him through his orgasm, swallowing everything down as he listened to Jaskier’s cry. But then, he did not stop or pull away, but continued to suck until Jaskier’s whines became pained. There was no refectory. He was still grotesquely hard.

When he heard the first sob, Love released him. Jaskier’s grip on the sheets was incredible, his knuckles white. He looked at Love, face contorted with pain and pleasure. His cock was dark with blood.

“It won’t stop,” he whimpered.

“We’re not done,” was Love’s reply.

He cupped Jaskier’s ass with an oily palm and rubbed him. Jaskier gasped and rolled his head back, knowing what was coming next. Love inserted one finger into Jaskier’s entrance, sliding it through to the knuckle. There was some resistance as Jaskier’s muscle clenched around the obtrusion, but there could be no doubt about his want as he pushed back against the touch. Love thrust his finger in and out, stretching the muscle. He added a second finger early, just to hear Jaskier’s wanton cry.

Jaskier stroked himself to relieve some of the heat, but it was no use. It was not the touch he craved. “Stroke me,” he said, reaching for Love’s hand.

Love allowed Jaskier to take his free hand once more. He guided it, cupping it around himself. But Love refused to stroke him. He gripped him hard, not allowing him to take control.

“You will _wait_ and take the pleasure I give you,” Love hissed.

Jaskier _keened._

Love inserted a third finger. He could tell Jaskier was struggling. Jaskier looked into his eyes, jaw slack as he panted. He couldn’t stop moving, trying to thrust into Love’s fist, trying to push Love’s fingers deeper inside of him, but Love wouldn’t give. He was enjoying this sight too much.

“What are you doing, my little flower? Do you want to fuck yourself to completion of my fingers?” He smiled, running his tongue over his teeth greedily. He angled his fingers and stroked upward against Jaskier’s prostate, making him jump. “Wouldn’t you rather I fucked you with my fat cock? It might be a tight fit. Do you think you could handle it?”

Jaskier sobbed with need, nodded as the tears rolled down his face. “Yes. Please. Please, hurry and put it in. I’ve waited long enough, just do it!” His cock was crying in kind, white seed leaking down, making a mess of the sheets.

“I’ve waited longer,” Love whispered. He captured Jaskier’s lips in a bruising kiss, shoving a fourth finger inside. Jaskier’s outburst tasted like victory on his tongue. He stroked and stretched, enjoying every whimper and pant Jaskier supplied in excess.

When the muscle relaxed enough and he felt Jaskier was loose, Love sat back. “Turn around,” he said.

Jaskier’s eyes widened. “What?” he asked.

“I’m going to silence your whorish whining,” Love said. He grabbed Jaskier and flipped him himself. He pushed Jaskier’s head into the sheets, a violent grip in his hair. It had felt good when Jaskier had done it. The moan Jaskier rewarded him with proved him right: Jaskier liked it rough.

Love lined himself up with Jaskier’s hole. He pulled Jaskier’s head back to free his mouth. He spoke, voice gravelly with the effort to restrain himself. “I’m going to make you mine,” he rumbled. He watched Jaskier shiver at his words. “I’m going to show you exactly how much I love you. I’m going to fuck you until you forget his name.”

“Then do it,” Jaskier moaned. He pushed back, touching the head of Love’s cock. The warm precum felt cool against the intense heat and he gasped. He repeated the action before Love gripped him, holding him away.

“You look so perfect from this angle: exactly what I wanted.” Love smoothed a hand down Jaskier’s back, then returned his grip when Jaskier felt it come free from his hip. He chuckled. “You’re just as eager as I would have you. Such a good boy.”

Jaskier grunted as another shot of cum leaked from his slit. He flushed anew at the praise. He wasn’t going to last long after Love filled him. He needed a moment to recover, but he didn’t want to take it either. Without Love’s touch, everything burned. The oil was too much for him. All he’d wanted was a quick fuck, but he was getting more.

Love shoved his face back into the mattress and pulled Jaskier back to meet him. He hissed as the head of his cock slid inside, and Jaskier moaned in response, muscle clenching around him. Love did not relent. He pressed and pressed until Jaskier’s ask was flush against his skin. Jaskier’s cries died in his throat and he tried to move forward to relieve some of the sting, but Love held him firmly in place. Only there, buried deep, did he allow Jaskier to adjust.

Then, he slipped half out, thrusting quickly inward, rutting against Jaskier’s prostate with force. Jaskier was too worked up. He came again before Love could finish a second thrust. The sheets were wet with his tears, but he turned his head and went on begging, a wave of coolness washing over him, relieving the silphium’s effects.

Love rode him through his orgasm. Jaskier never made such noise. Love leaned down to rest flush against him. He pulled Jaskier back once more, tugging at his hair. “Tell me you love me,” he ordered.

“I lo—” and Love gave Jaskier’s sensitive cock a cruel stroke to make him whimper in the middle of his answer. “Love. I love you. Gods help me, I love you so much,” Jaskier replied.

Love kissed his neck. “You’re mine,” he said.

“Yes,” Jaskier panted. “Always.” He yelped as Love bit his neck, sucking a bruise that would darken by the next morning.

Love’s thrusts picked up speed and the slap of skin echoed through the room. Jaskier sobbed and begged him again to move faster, harder, to touch him and claim him. And then, there was a new surprise in store for him amid Jaskier’s cries.

“Tell me you’re sorry for what you did,” Jaskier prompted.

Love paused a moment, and when he did, Jaskier whined, reaching back for him. Love batted his weak hand away and pushed in again, resuming his duty. “I’m sorry,” he said. Did he mean the cage? Or was it for leaving him so long? Whatever Jaskier meant, he _was_ sorry. It was all for this moment, nothing born of innate cruelty. No, he never meant to be cruel to his love. He meant only to treasure him—every part.

“Would you really have left me forever?” Jaskier asked.

Ah, that was it. Love gave his tired cock another slow stroke and purred into his ear. “Never. And I’m never leaving your side again. I vow it, my dear one.”

“You were so cold to me for so long. I thought you’d forgotten me. You _did_ forget me.” His words were muffled in the sheets and his body lurched with a single, heavy sob.

“No, no; I would never forget you. Never you.”

“Come for me,” Jaskier begged. “Don’t you see what you’ve done? Look what you’ve reduced me to.” He was indeed a needy mess. He lay there, sprawled beneath Love, arcing for his touch, pleading for his pleasure. Jaskier, ever composed and collected, had been reduced to nothing but his most primal need. It was ecstasy.

“Why haven’t you come for me?” Jaskier asked, only moments after Love doubled his efforts.

“Patience, Jaskier,” Love panted. The words already had their effect. Love set a punishing pace, hips snapping sadistically. It was sure to hurt, and yet, Jaskier only begged for more.

Love felt his muscles tighten in anticipation. He released his hold on Jaskier’s hair and twined their fingers together, hands over Jaskier’s. He wanted to pin him and own him. He wanted to be as close to him as possible in the moment he claimed him. More than anything, he wanted to reassure Jaskier of his most devoted love. He stroked Jaskier’s left hand and a ring appeared, glimmering in the late light from the window. _Yes._ Another mark of ownership—of their bond.

Jaskier could feel him become fitful and knew by his breathing that Love’s orgasm was reaching its apex. He braced himself for it, squeezing Love’s hands as best he could and arcing back to meet him. “Please, love. Please come for me,” he whispered.

Love pushed as far inside as he could reach and gave a great cry as he filled Jaskier with a thick, hot spurt. He felt Jaskier jerk forward and shriek and something warm and wet landed on his hand. From the sound, Jaskier had had another orgasm, another gift of the silphium oil. The bed would be a mess. But Love could not cherish his win. He froze, muscles stiff. He surely hadn’t heard right. But Jaskier whispered again as another tear fell from his thick lashes.

_“Geralt.”_

Love felt a pressure in his chest as he came down from the moment. All at once, he realized he’d been played the fool. All of Jaskier’s sweet words … they were not for him. Love had been nothing more than a look-alike: a pathetic stand-in. He was only a replacement for the man Jaskier mourned. He felt _used._ The fury rose as he knelt there, listening to Jaskier’s gentle sobbing. Fine. Then he meant to give Jaskier _exactly_ what he wanted. He’d promised him as much.

Love leaned down to whisper, damp breath against Jaskier’s ear. He spoke in the fiend’s voice who dared to steal the heart which he had claimed. In Geralt’s voice, he whispered with all the tender sincerity he could muster.

“I love you, _Psyche.”_

Then, he pulled out, leaving Jaskier cold and alone. He wrapped himself in a red sheet and stomped his way from the room as Jaskier’s sobs turned to wailing. Love felt the change was justified. A name for a name. He would leave Jaskier still wanting, tormented by his own betrayal. However, unlike Psyche, Love had no intention of returning him to the mortal realm. Whatever came of them, Love meant to keep him. It didn’t matter how long it took, whether or not Jaskier would ever love him. He’d come to his bed. That was enough. But a god cannot lie—not even to himself.

When Love went to breakfast with Ciri the next morning, Jaskier joined them. His eyes were rimmed with dark circles and his ragged appearance told of his current state. He hadn’t bathed; he’d merely wiped himself and redressed in his clothes. The doublet hung open, but Love knew it had nothing to do with the effort of buttoning. He’d ripped the clasps himself.

Ciri stared at Jaskier, anxiety clear. When she spotted the angry mark on Jaskier’s neck, she gasped, reaching up towards him. “Jaskier, what happened to you?” she asked. Her voice was tight, all the weeks of watching and fretting catching up with her in a single moment. He looked dreadful; overnight he’d become so much worse than he’d outwardly appeared before. It tore at her heart. Even now, she did not know if he would answer. He wouldn’t look at her for so long—wouldn’t _talk_ to her! She’d had to go to Love for anything resembling human company. To be so close now and refuse to be present was too much. She gripped at his doublet, tears threatening to spill over at any moment. He was right there, and still she was missing him.

Jaskier flinched away from her touch, but he looked at her for the first time in weeks. He could see the tears in her eyes, the worry in the furrow of her brow. It twisted his stomach with guilt. He tried to force a smile, but he’d long lost the will.

“I hurt myself,” he replied. And it was true.

Ciri buried herself in his arms and let the tears flow at last. He held her close, but he could make no apologies. All he could do was hold her and let himself be held as she sought the comfort of his arms.

Jaskier looked over her head. He stared at Love with empty eyes. Love stared back, neither speaking. _I hurt myself,_ Jaskier had said. And certainly he had. He’d also sought the comfort of another’s arms when the one he loved most could not be found. He’d gone to Love willingly to find the barest hint of Geralt, knowing that he was dead and he’d never see him again, hear him, or know his true touch. It didn’t matter that he’d be born again, repeating the cycle as another Winter or Death. Whoever he became would not be Geralt. There would never come another Geralt ever again, however long he waited, however long he searched the world over. The closest he would ever have was Love, wearing his false face, speaking with his voice.

Yes, he had hurt himself. And Ciri would never know the truth of those words.

**Author's Note:**

> The silver dagger. Now you can see why I had to sit on this so long, otherwise the surprise would have been revealed! Anyway, this one goes out to the whump fans in the audience and those who might be horny for villains who are actually villains. You do you, y'all. Enjoy my trash.


End file.
